Shale woke to the pounding swim that was reality - the world spun with the blistering ache beneath his skull, and the heartbeat of the world thrummed in a manner that only agitated the ache. His body felt stiff and sore when he tried to shift from the modified lotus pose; sitting up elicited a great deal of aggravation to the muscles. His mouth felt dry, the taste sharp, and his tongue entirely sore where he bit through part of it. The swelling had since stopped blood from pooling into his mouth, but the vomit trail that trickled down the side of the bed showed that a great deal was present earlier. Slowly Shale sank back onto his elbows, but quickly righted himself when he realized that the pulse of the world was truly a knock at the door.

Peeling away the animal skull demanded little effort, and he set the piece aside on the nightstand. Afterward he stumbled out of bed toward the door. He found little reason to bother with getting dressed; the only time someone knocked this early was then UPS had a delivery for Porsha. And if all they asked of him was a signature? He needed no pants for that.

Walking, however, proved entirely troublesome as the landscape continued to dance beneath his feet. Often he clung to doorframes momentarily to correct his stumbles along the way. His legs felt weak from the slackened circulation during the night, and likely injured by what Shale assumed were seizures.Perhaps his only consolation was that no lamps were damaged during the ritual itself, and afterward he wasn’t dead or in a vegetative state. Worse had happened to those attempting the same ritual.

Once he reached the door, half a minute was spent fumbling with the chain latch before he finally opened it. And standing before him was none other than Orah, looking upon the mess on his face and his otherwise obviously disheveled and delirious condition. A thin sigh escaped his nose while he closed his eyes a moment. “I didn’t realize you were coming. Just… Ignore this,” he asked while gesticulating the whole of his face. The potent scents of sage and eucalyptus attempted to cover the stench of rot. “And come in, if you like. I just need to shower.” Maybe twice. Or lay down and never wake for the rest of the day.

The haunting warbles in his peripheral vision left a faint shimmer of a ghost in the hallway. His gaze darted toward it almost immediately but discovered nothing of the sort. And there are still residual effects. It would be better to send her home. I am in no condition to play host.

The allen wrench set had been a surprise to find among her things after their last bow practice, but she hadn’t thought much of it. He seemed to misplace it from time to time, it was a simple thing to drop by his house before class to drop it off.

Which was how Orah found herself outside the apartment Shale shared with Porsha, straightening the book bag she had over her shoulder. Jeans today, with a loose, flowing tunic in pale blue that reached past her hips. Hearing the chain rattle, she looked up from her bag as the door opened and found herself staring at a very strange sight. Shale… covered in… stuff. Looking as though he’d been through hell or a really bad bender. For once it was not the fact that he was in his underwear that had her staring.

“Shale!” She stumbled as she followed him inside. “You… ah… you have something in your hair….”

She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely not something you’d want to have in your hair.

“Are you feeling okay? I can make you some tea, or coffee maybe, while you shower… I just found your wrench set in my bag and I wanted to return it to you. I… probably should have called first, I’m sorry. I sent you a text to let you know I was dropping by.”

An exasperated sigh escaped the man’s lips when Orah drew attention to his hair. Feebly a hand reached up to seize a piece, and the evidence looked to be leftover clam chowder. I suppose I’m lucky enough to be alive right now, condition aside.

Afterward Shale turned to stumble toward the bathroom, still cursed with unstable footing. “Anything is fine. Coffee, tea, water… I’m probably dehydrated…” The mumbling continued while he clutched the doorframe of the bathroom, nearly overshooting the entrance entirely during a particularly disorienting dizzy spell.

After slipping inside, the hunter shut the door behind him and leaned on its cool surface temporarily. Closing his eyes, he focused on the calming sensation against his skin before he attempted to work the bath faucet for the tub shower. It felt a great distance away when possessed of a damaged middle ear, but he crossed the tiles regardless and knelt to turn it on. Water jettisoned out in full force until he pulled the tab atop its spigot to reroute water to the shower head. For a moment, he considered simply kneeling there with his head against the cool porcelain until the dizziness passed, but he doubted such luck would befall him. Having done this before, he expected his condition to last the whole of the day.

Finally he slipped thumbs into the sides of his underwear and tugged them off in one fluid motion. Standing, he let the dregs of cloth pool around his ankles before he stepped into the shower. And after adjusting the water to a more lukewarm setting, the hunter simply sat in the bottom of the tub with knees pulled to chest. Resting his head on his arms, he surrendered all thought to the water pelting his body for a solid five minutes before he proceeded with any attempts to clean himself off.

When he left the bathroom, Shale wore a simple burgundy towel about his waist from one of Porsha’s racks. His hair seemed unchanged in volume despite being wet, and somehow looked more ferocious for it (or perhaps that was its natural state outside of the ponytail). A silent nod to Orah was given on his way to the bedroom, where he pushed the door closed with the back of his heel. It hadn’t latched, but he found little reason to care when physically ill.

Once he left the bedroom, Shale wore familiar ripped jeans and a loose-fitting tank top, and all his jewelry was relegated to a dish on Porsha’s nightstand. He felt no better than before, but he tried to summon the proper politeness required of hosting on short notice. “Thanks for returning the wrench set, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself so soon. I’d have remembered it eventually.”

She grimaced as she watched him go, worried about the way he stumbled and nearly missed the door to the bathroom. What on earth had he been doing?

When she heard the door close, Orah turned to head for the kitchen and set for searching out a teapot and tea to go in it. She pulled cupboards open, despite the anxious feeling of digging through some stranger’s kitchen. At least Shale had given her permission to do so… The teapot was the first find and she filled it with water, putting it on the stove to heat. When she found the actual tea, that went on the counter to wait for the water to boil and at that point Shale had emerge from the bathroom. He looked marginally better this time. At least cleaner, anyway. It didn’t seem to have done anything for the exhaustion and dizziness she could still see. It was enough to distract her from the fact that he wore little more than a towel for his short trip to the bedroom.

Left with lack of something to do with her hands, Orah went back to the cupboards and hunted down a box of crackers from among other miscellaneous snack food all houses seemed to have in some small part. This she set on the island as he came back out of the bedroom again, the whistle of the teapot signaling the water was ready.

“You’re welcome, Shale, and I don’t consider it a trouble. I was on my way to class, it seemed easy to stop by and drop it off. Are you hungry? Crackers like these might help if you’re having stomach issues.” The young woman took out a mug to set it in front of him, adding the tea packet and then the hot water with a soft rushing gurgle as it left the spout.

“If its not rude of me to ask… what happened to you?”

Shale closed his eyes and covered lids with the crook of his arm. Leaning back offered some comfort to sore and battered muscles. “To see through the eyes of the dead, one must first die.” To say more of it somehow felt irreverent, so he deviated from the details behind his ceremony. And covered in its aftermath, he knew worse fates awaited him after the day of rest concluded. He knew, but he said nothing of it.

“I needed to know if my brother was dead.” It is the only means for one to see. Even if it is unreliable… But who would believe old tales taught by those in an unfamiliar culture. Would you, Orah? Or would you consider it folly? Children’s tales? Dreams shared in a cemetery when the nights are cold, and only fires warm your bones?

Would I?

Shale drew up his legs tentatively. One knee lay propped against the couch while the other leaned sideways until it collided with the cushion unceremoniously. Both ached with the night’s spasms, and one bore a heavy scuff mark from nails, or possibly the nightstand. “I can’t say I’m hungry right now.” His stomach hardly offered any noise, and it sank beneath his hips with its emptiness. All I can smell are the oils regardless. Anything I eat for days will smell of them.

Why did I do this. Why did I have to know.

“I don’t want to keep you from class.” I would say I’ll be fine, but I’m… Not certain. Not with these remainders (reminders?) haunting my consciousness. Flickers of memories, thoughts, potentials… It can’t all cease after one night, can it. <******** it all.

Taking up the teacup she had poured him, she came around the island to the couch and set the cup down on it with a soft c***k of glass.

She was a little surprised by his answer, unsure what it meant. She could understand the need to know, she’d felt it herself. Orah settled onto the other end of the couch, giving him space. One leg she tucked under her, covered with her skirt, and the other hung down as she tucked her hands into her lap. She couldn’t help wondering just what he’d done, seeking an answer. He didn’t seem inclined to talk about it though.

“Did you get an answer?” She asked as she leaned a shoulder into the back of the couch.

You don’t look well… I’m worried about leaving you like this.

“Is there anything I can do?”

”I got an answer, but…” How could he explain how fundamentally differently his culture functioned with knowledge? Shale breathed shallowly through his mouth while he fished for answers, each as empty as the next. It felt like he so often fished in a dead lake and expected dinner. “The answers you receive aren’t straightforward. It’s mainly just… Possibilities. Like you’re looking into Schrödinger’s box, but all you see is darkness. We believed that people were missing a ‘sense’, so all we can do is encourage intuition. It’s… complicated to explain.” And Shale believed that Orah could follow him well enough, but as he felt currently, he wasn’t up to that venture. “My answer was maybe, with a higher probability of yes.”

Finally drawing a sigh, shale lifted his arm from eyes to look at the damage sustained. he felt it before he saw it - a surfeit of scrapes and hidden bruises waiting to blossom in the coming hours. Nothing asked for medical attention beyond the deep gash in one hand, whose origins he couldn’t remember. Primarily the ache settled in his skull, and pressing against the slowly knitting wound mitigated some of its throbbing.

I survived well enough, physically. But there are more wounds that tape and sutures cannot soothe.

“This one might need some attention.” He offered his hand toward Orah with the gash well displayed on the back. “Otherwise… I suppose I need to eat sometime.” I’m not going to try to fetch those crackers - not with the room spinning while I’m still.

“And I need a distraction.”

”A Maybe is better than a Yes, right?” She said as she watched him assess himself, doing her own once over. He was so beat up… spasms? Seizure? Had he been doing drugs last night? It was a little disturbing to think about… she didn’t know anyone who… did that sort of thing. Well… she didn’t now.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him a little more carefully. He didn’t show any of the symptoms she’d seen in Alois once… and this was the first time she’d seen him hurt like this. It wasn’t the same thing, at the least.

“Do you do this often, or is this a rarer thing? I can make you something to eat, if you feel up to eating it. It’ll be easier on you if you stay on the couch, I think.” Taking his wrist in her hand, she turned his over to check the extent of the gash. It wasn’t too bad… She slid off the couch, her pastel skirt sliding against her legs, and retrieved her book bag from by the door where she had dropped it to make the tea. The old leather was well worn and becoming quite the fixture with her these days. She couldn’t carry a med kit… it was the next best thing. When she settled back on the couch, she had the small, modified first aid kit with her. It went into her lap, the top flipped open to display the various packages of gauze and tape and ointment…

Orah reached for his hand, and lacking a better place, she set it on her lifted knee where she could see it, her foot tucked up under her. He’d already showered… there was no need for the alcohol wipes. Tanned fingers manipulated the skin gently together and she began to apply butterfly stitches along the length of it.

“I don’t know what to distract you with… I told you enough about myself last time.” She said as she ripped open the gauze and covered his cut, taped wrapped to hold it down. “Unless, I don’t know, you want to hear about the meanings of flowers… Or funny stories about my little brother, growing up. He’d be mortified if he knew, but I think it a worthwhile sacrifice.”

”That would be so, if definitive answers existed.” Anything close to a negative would’ve left Shale in much better spirits for executing the attempt. But the dreams rose in feverish tempos and screeched their answers without pause, and Shale was left with the disjointed aftermath of it all. He found it impossible to concentrate for a stretch, where his mind so often deviated to the answers that festered in his gut.

Shale felt delicate fingers setting to work on his hand. A touch came lightly, parallel to the wound, and elicited a thin sheet of gooseflesh down his forearm. He paid it little heed. “This is the second time I’ve attempted it. Most know that the ritual runs a high risk of killing you. Some herb oils, when combined, cause seizures… Vomiting…” He paused to breathe through his mouth once more; simple mention of essential oils urged the very symptoms he tried to avoid. “But, the last time I tried it, I was about fourteen. My brother thought I was deathly ill because I slept through the day. I planned to do the same today.”

My brother. The one who escapes me now. Why, then, must I survive it.

“I want to avoid the topic of brothers right now. Flower meanings would suffice - and Porsha liked the flowers you dropped off when you first came to dinner. Otherwise… If you’re tired of telling stories, I could share the times when I was first learning to shoot.” Afterward Shale tried to sit up so Orah needn’t lean so far forward, but the room swam impressively, which caused the hunter to pause. He abandoned the pursuit abruptly and sank back into the cushions, hoping the exacerbated rotation would soon die down.

Her work hesitated as she lifted her eyes to him, concern in her expression and rebuke in the line as she pressed her lips together, but she kept that to herself. Was his need to know so desperate that he was willing to die for it? What if he had died and the answer had been no? He’d have left that precious brother alone in the world, never seeing each other again, and for what? Harping on him wouldn’t do anything… her opinions on life, death and quality of life never seemed to find much favor with anyone.

“Does this… ritual require that you perform it alone and in privacy?” She said finally, finished with his hand and taking it by his wrist to set it on his own thigh, rather than on hers. Medical work done, it called up embarrassing thoughts that had no place here. “Maybe you should have had someone here to watch over you while you went through it. Make sure you don’t drown in your vomit or… crack your head against the nightstand. Get you fluids to keep you hydrated, which speaking of…”

Reaching for the tea cup, she pushed it firmly at him, reaching for the uninjured hand to curl his long fingers around the cup. She held it until she was sure he had it before she let go. It wasn’t scalding any more, but not having it all over his lap would be good.

“I’m glad she liked the flowers. Mayflowers, the ones I brought, are for Welcome. I thought it might be appropriate… welcoming you to the city and such. And its a good meaning to display in your home… or I like to think it is. Most flowers have romantic meanings… which is maybe not surprising. And meanings change from place to place, and over time. Yellow roses used to have negative meanings… like jealousy, infidelity and betrayal. Now, it can mean friendship, apology, undying love… I thought about bringing Daffodils. They have meanings of chivalry, respect, new beginnings. I just thought a Mayflower would be better.”

His expression appeared more sullen when she called into question the safety behind his choices. He knew them to be dangerous, and performing anything alone threw caution to the wind. But how was he to explain to Porsha the importance behind not waking him through momentous seizures? the girl had no means of monitoring his heart regardless; how was she to know when the poisonous combination finally took its toll?

“You are right - having someone with me would’ve been better, but nothing can be done of it now.” The mention of drowning in his own vomit sparked its own loathsome mental image, and the casual way she mentioned it drew some attention. Has she been so saturated with medical knowledge already that such things are a non-issue?

Orah molded his fingers about the tea cup with mention of hydration, which warmed his palm considerable. He knew he should drink. He knew he should eat, and likely get some exercise, and get liberal rest to recover, but simply lying about enticed him greatly. After considering it a moment, Shale finally sat up enough to take a sip without finding issue swallowing. his remaining palm came to sit flush against the ceramic.

“Is flower language standardized, then?” Shale adopted a similar lean to hers, his shoulder digging into the backrest of the couch. “Or are there different ‘dialects’ of it depending on location? Are bouquets of different species considered sentences?” The entire concept of a flower language begged many questions, which meant that critically thinking over the presented information would keep him occupied for hours to come. He figured he could manage a few solid hours of wakefulness before the festering exhaustion took him, and if Orah had to leave soon for class, then he needn’t worry about passing out in her presence.

Men in the throes of symptoms attributed to drugs were nothing new to her… not since Alois. At least it wasn’t something that happened often, especial with the potential price of it. She wasn’t sure if she could agree or not with his reasons for doing it, but at least she didn’t have to make that choice herself. Thank God.

“Flowers have held meanings, stood as symbols to people, for thousands of years. Its called Floriography. It saw particular favor in Victorian England in the 19th century. People would use flower arrangements to send messages to each other that couldn’t be expressed out loud. So, sentences, in a way, yes.” Orah explained. “Meanings varied from place to place, culture to culture. For example, in the United Kingdom and here in the United States, red poppies are used to remember fallen soldiers. I’m not sure that other countries use them the same way. There are many dictionaries that have been published on flower meanings, but even their information can vary with the writer.”

She lifted one smooth shoulder and let it drop, watching as he took a drink with an approving eye. Getting fluids into him was step one. The rest could come later.... maybe after some sleep.

“Different colors of the same flower can have different meanings. Things can be conveyed with the way you tie a ribbon around the bouquet, what hand you give it with… its a very subtle language, grown from a society that had strict social conventions.”

Floriography didn’t offer a conventional sentence structure, but more a collection of words to tie together into associations. The ‘language’ of flowers seemed interesting enough, and Shale would’ve taken more interest in it if he found himself in better condition. Instead he listened as best he could while Orah offered a mild history lesson. It sounded a useful branch of communication in Destiny City, where he may not find the opportunity to express what he wished. However, if the language truly varied so much, there stood a chance to send the wrong message.

Another sip, and Shale set the ceramic cup on the nearby coffee table. He covered his eyes with one hand while he waited for a particularly ferocious throbbing in his skull to abate. “So what carries more weight in a bouquet? The color of the flower, or the type of flower? And can you get some excedrin? It’s in the cupboard to the right of the kitchen sink.”

Red poppies. I used to think they looked like Slate’s hair. He was no soldier, but more than worth remembering. I don’t want to face this yet, not with her here. Change the subject.

But what did he have to choose from? She offered embarrassing stories of her brother, and the option offered by him entailed glorious archery accidents. Both promised reminders in their own manner. Was he so intrinsically tied to his kin that he could not live a life separate from him? Shale’s arm returned to his eyes and he swallowed hard to stifle the growing cold dread. Mourning crept up his throat, burning with each clawed foothold.

“Have you been practicing archery?”

”The type, I suppose? But there isn’t a separate meaning for, say, Roses that would supercede their color.... There is either a red rose for love, or a white rose for innocence.” She said as she pushed off from the couch again to head for the kitchen. The indicated cupboard was easy enough to find, and the pain medication inside. The fridge door fanned her with cool air when she opened it to retrieve a bottle of water, her eyes passing over the collection of leftover containers and fresh fruit. They ate well here, and she was glad to see it. He’d need good food, recovering from this, to replenish what he’d expelled.

Water tucked into the crook of her arm despite its chilled sides, she pressed her palm to the top of the bottle and twisted it to defeat the child-proof top. A pair of pills were shaken out into her hand when Orah reached the couch and she leaned over the back to offer them to him.

“Here… does your head hurt?” She asked as she pulled the water bottle from her arm and held that out as well. He certainly acted as though it did, covering his eyes as though the light hurt them. She wasn’t surprised… whatever he’d taken, if not the dehydration alone, would do it.

“I’ve been practicing on my own, a little. It mostly feels like setting down muscle memory, right now, rather than improving aim and strength. I don’t know… I’m sure it’ll come as I keep at it. Nothing ever comes right away, it all takes practice.”

Love and innocence. There’s nothing innocent about love - no wonder they’re exclusive in that context.

When Orah dropped the pills into the palm of his open hand, Shale manipulated them with his fingers before he bothered to look at them. By the time he lifted arm to see, his eyes looked somewhat glassed, but slowly treading toward their normal baseline. A great measure of self-control was demanded in stifling emotions, and Shale ran no shortage on it. He took the two white pills without incident and shook his head at offer of water - he needed electrolytes not supplied in straight, purified water - and took another sip of tea to down them. He figured another half hour of suffering would conclude before he found some relief.

“My head is part of it,” he answered afterward. A quick gesture of forearms disclosed a few angry splotches from striking furniture. The gash recently mended called more attention.

“Your muscles are probably quite sore. Archery exacts its demands on muscle groups you don’t normally use. You felt it in your back afterward, didn’t you? Once you can get your draw weight above, say, 25 pounds you’ll find that your shots are a little more true. Just don’t forget to readjust your sight for it. I can take you to an outdoor range after… this.” Shale was certain that his aim would prove worse than hers if he tried to shoot in this condition. It might’ve been good for a laugh, or a boost of Orah’s confidence, but he doubted that she’d want to learn from someone who managed to shoot the floor or the ceiling.

“Maybe you can shoot some flowers.”

”They are, but I don’t mind. Its soreness from something I earned, for something I’m working towards.” Orah said with a small smile he couldn’t see behind his back. She set the water on the floor by her feet as she contemplated something and flexed her fingers for a moment.

“We can go any time, as long as you feel well enough for it. I don’t mind waiting a little while… a few days won’t hurt anything and you’ll do better at full health, I think.” Teeth worried her lip as she shifted, her hands resting on the back of the couch before she reached down to touch his shoulder. “Sit up a little bit? I think I can help a little bit with the headache.”

Tentatively, she reached around from behind and shifted his hair back with a light touch, before setting her hands to his bare neck. She was a little nervous about it… too often, touching someone had a bad reaction, but she did really want to help him… Curling her hands into fists. she set her thumbs to the back of his neck and ran them up either side of his spine with a firm pressure, pressing it into the hollows at the base of his skull.

Full strength for target shooting? It felt more a leisurely activity than the typical demand exacted by hunting. “I should be fine after today. The essential oils won’t take long to pass through the system. The rest is taken care of by a count of hours.” Though, he supposed, she knew more of the medical properties behind those oils than he did. All his knowledge came from a count of experience, whereas she possessed the medical knowhow that pertained to these oils and their effects. Inwardly he berated himself for assumptiveness.

Hands lighted in his hair. You know, I heard stories that Sarah lost her puppy to your hair. Is that what I’m gonna find in here? Slate’s voice danced across the back of his mind. If I keep braiding it, will I lose my fingers too?

You will lose everything, Slate.

Shale sat up as suggested and soon felt the lay of hands along his neck. Her skin felt cool, slightly moistened by the water bottle’s condensation. It felt favorable against his body’s flippancy in shifting from too hot to too cold with nothing in between. Orah soon incurred a welcome rush with her gestures while pressure was applied to his nape, urging him to close his eyes. Isn’t this a surprise? I wonder if she enjoys taking care of others enough to go the extra mile like this.

Shale leaned forward enough to bear more access to his neck and breathed a sigh to dismiss most of the tension that she worked out. “Do you remember when you told me you intended to become a nurse?”

Orah breathed in deeply and let it out in a slow, measured sigh, a mountain of her own tension easing as he simply accepted what she offered. She hadn’t even realized just how scared she had been that he’d refuse and pull away… that her overture would be thrown back in her face the way it had in the past…

Her hands firmed as she rocked her knuckles into the muscle on either side and pressed with her thumbs again, building up her confidence. Dark lashes lowered as she rubbed the tension out of his neck, unfocused as the work called for touch rather than sight, and less brain power than other activities. It felt good to be able to do this for him and the sigh he released warmed her through. She’d be glad, later, that he couldn’t see her face… unconsciously, a smile curled over her lips.

“Hmm?” He’d asked a question and it pulled Orah back to the present, blinking a moment as she processed it. “Oh, um… yes. I still plan to be a nurse. Why?”

Her hands shifted and she opened her fingers, rubbing along the valley behind his jaw and ears. Glands didn’t feel swollen… that was good. His hair felt overly warm as it rested on her wrists, but it wasn’t bothersome… just another measure of his state.

How long had it been since anyone gave him a massage? A count of years, by guess. His body still responded unconscionably well to touch, even when beleaguered with injury. He knew the side-effects of his trade entailed keen sensitivity to another’s touch. Even now her strong movements raised gooseflesh on his upper arms and shoulders.

“I was thinking about it the other day.” Speech felt strange with her hands pressed against the back of his jaw, but he paid it little mind. “Not sure why. But I realized that the choice doesn’t have to be one or the other - that, in fact, both could be a better decision. Perhaps I only consider it now because it pertains to some of the considerations I’ve been having, but could you imagine leaving flower arrangement behind? Even as a hobby, I suspect it would see some benefit…”

And if he was right, then he need not devote all of his life to hunting. Some aspects of his chosen vocation could be substituted out for more generous hobbies, whose superficially unrelated benefits may somehow tie into his main profession. Modeling already had that effect, did it not? The hours afforded for lying still encouraged meditation, which already assisted in clearing his mind.

Shale drew his knees loosely toward his chest and rested his head against their weight. The bridge of his nose found easy fitting between knees. “It’s just a thought,” he spoke against the jeans fabric. “I imagine you’re busy enough with studies, and now archery.”

She moved her hands lower as he bent forward and rubbed her thumbs into the muscles that connected his neck to his shoulders, in the meaty part above the shoulder blades. Trapezius... Anywhere that might connect to the muscles and tendons that ran up his neck and onto his skull. Scalenes… Erector spinae… The words floated up from anatomy studies, flitting through the back of her mind. She even managed to find a knot or two, which gave her something to concentrate on as she worked them out.

Considering his musings, she rolled her shoulders and made a soft noise that came out something neutral. “Some people consider all pursuits to be worthwhile, as they better yourself, I suppose. No person has to be one thing and one thing only… I don’t know. Learning is a good thing. Doing things that you enjoy just because you enjoy them is good too.” She sighed softly as she rubbed the back of his neck again, pushing upwards towards the base of his skull once more. “I don’t… really have the heart for flower arrangement any more. I used to do it because it was fun, it made something pretty, and we could sell it in the shop. It was useful, because it brought in extra money. I don’t enjoy it as much any more, and as I don’t work at the shop… they wouldn’t go on the shelves to be sold.”

She didn’t have much heart for a lot of things these days. The thought was saddening. Studies and patrols… and now archery. If anything… archery was an improvement over before, more than a distraction. It gave her a small measure of confidence, knowing she could hold the bow and arrow correctly, boosted by the rare times when she managed to hit anywhere near the gold center of the target. It was something that didn’t have anything to do with school or being a senshi, and that was part of what she liked about it. Part of what she liked about him. He didn’t know anything about her, so there was nothing to judge her for. No expectations. No connection to a horrible future or lightless present.

Orah pulled her hands away finally, shaking them out and rubbing them against her hips without thinking about it. Too many other things filled her mind.

“Better?” She said as she came around the couch to gather up the first aid kit. “You should probably finish your tea and take a nap. When you wake up, it would may be a good time for some food.”

”They say a jack of all trades cannot be a master of one.” But when mastery no longer held the same import, why limit oneself? Potentially astounding skill in archery and hunting never paid the bills - he hadn’t once received an offer for payment if he waltzed out and hunted a ten-point buck. Could he bring himself to abandon those old ideals, when they stood so impractically in the city? No - even now, knowing the folly in them, sentimentality and sheer conditioning caused him to balk at retiring what he knew as truth.

“I’ve also head that we will all outgrow our greatest joys, which means another awaits our discovery.” His grandmother often reminded him with those flecks of wisdom discovered over a hard life. He thought little of it as a child, but slowly realized their import during times of adversity.

A stretch of silence followed, in which Shale relaxed further beneath her steady work. His lids laid heavy against his eyes, with lashes curled gently against his knees. Occasionally he caught his consciousness slipping and forced himself back into the present moment. And once those hands finally parted from his skin, Shale sat up and noted a marked heaviness to his upper body now that his muscles relaxed fully. A thin strand of spit connected lips to knee, which he quickly wiped away. Perhaps Orah wouldn’t notice - or wouldn’t mention it if she did.

Shale nodded his agreement to her ask. “Much,” he offered afterward. She had a point with sleeping now, as he would only draw benefit from it and she could finally go to class without having to stay and watch over him. Inwardly he questioned if she might linger regardless - her earlier questions concerning the ritual indicated a certain protectiveness. Without saying another word of it, Shale raised the mug to his lips and drained as much of the tea as he could in one go. It tasted slightly bitter toward the end, but he paid it little mind. Afterward the cup and its dregs found their place atop the table. “Thank you, Orah.”

Sinking back down onto the couch and stretching out over its surface demanded little thought, but Shale found himself caught on considerations for clothing. Most denizens of the city fostered discomfort in looking at someone clothed sparingly, but Orah seemed to take it well last time he stripped to a scanty state. “I don’t normally sleep with much on. Should I wait until you leave?”

Orah gathered the cup up with the kit and the heavy look she wore eased a little as she offered him a smile back for his thanks.

“You’re welcome, Shale.” She said as she headed for the kitchen to set the cup in the sink. He’d deal with it later, when he felt more up to moving around. She had honestly planned to stay when she had first seen him, but now suddenly things felt so weighty… all she wanted was to slip away and be alone. Maybe she’d skip class… it felt like too much effort today. Going to Ida offered the only easing of the ache and she resolved to make the trip once she had him settled. Sitting in the sunlight held more appeal than anything else right now.

At least he felt better… it was something pleasant to take with her. It was why she’d wanted to be a nurse, after all. Make people’s lives better. She was already reaching for her bag at the last question and she shrugged as she looped the strap over her head to settle on her shoulder.

“No, go ahead. Don’t worry about me… not the first time I’ve seen you nearly naked.” She chuckled, subdued. “Sleep well, Shale. Call me when you feel up for going to the range. I look forward to it.”

It was a relief to reach for the door and open it, like she was setting herself free from some cage. Not because of him, or this place… but something else. She didn’t know what. Thinking too hard, maybe. Dwelling too much on things she didn’t like to remember. The door clicked softly as it closed behind her, eased shut with as much consideration as anything else she ever did.